self-criticism

This sentence is not my ideaIt is a string of bastardizedPhoenician symbolsThat attempt to evokeThe image my mind has formedUnknowingly, I have collectedSign after sign, eventuallyLearning how to link little ones togetherLike long threads of a loom in actionForming the shoddy rug shapeOf my compositionLike Aladdin’s carpet, It is made up.As his home isA drunken…